by Sheila Cole
The saleslady looked down her nose at me like I had a disease. “Oh, they’re for the young lady,” she said.
I guess I should get used to it, but I can’t. Nobody ever looks at my face when they talk to me now—they just stare at my stomach. Mom said that always happens when you’re pregnant, no matter how old you are, but I think she said it just to make me feel better. It was really nice of her to buy me all of those things even though she hates my being pregnant. On the way home she tried, in a sort of roundabout way, to bring up adoption. I told her I didn’t know why she brought it up when we were having an okay time together. Did she want to ruin it?
Tuesday, September 3
Had to catch the bus at six-thirty this morning to get to my new school. It’s in a continuation school way over in Santa Ana. I was half dead by the time I got home this afternoon. I just flopped on the bed and fell asleep.
Mom was right. I’m not going to learn much there. The teacher, or whatever she is, looks like a baby doll, and her voice sounds like a little girl’s. Mrs. Penny Zakos (that’s her name) is oh-so-understanding and wants us to feel free to come to her with all our questions. I wouldn’t ask her how to get to the girls’ bathroom.
They haven’t received my transcript, so they don’t know where to place me. Not that it matters, since there aren’t any real classes besides child growth and U.S. history. You work on math and English out of workbooks.
The other girls seem nice enough. Mostly I kept to myself. One Mexican girl (I think her name’s Yolanda) who’s very pregnant offered me half her sandwich at lunch because I forgot mine. I was very hungry, and it was nice of her to offer.
The babies were across the hall in the nursery. There were eight of them—two eensie weensie newborns in bassinets, two about three months old, another that was trying to get up on his hands and knees so he could crawl, a couple that were just learning to walk, and an older one that was trying to feed itself and getting food all over its face.
I watched the newborns for a while at lunchtime. They were asleep, and you could tell what they were dreaming. One of them was making sucking motions with its lips like it was nursing, and the other one was smiling like it had just heard the funniest joke. It was kind of neat.
Watching the babies in the nursery, it really hit me that I’m going to have a baby that sleeps and cries and nurses and wets its diaper. What am I going to do with a baby? I don’t know anything about them. How will I take care of it?
Right now I hate Peter. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him. I wouldn’t be pregnant. Does he expect me to have this baby by myself? Does he even think about it at all? I doubt it. He has no idea what I’m going through or what it’s like for me.
Thursday, September 5
Still working at The Lark Ascending. I’m not making much progress. It’s really discouraging, but playing the violin is the only thing I do these days that makes me feel like myself. The rest of me seems to be disappearing behind this baby. It’s taking over my mind and body like an alien invader. Soon the old Valerie Larch will disappear altogether, and in her place there will be a huge swollen belly with skinny arms and legs.
Saturday, September 7
I GOT A LETTER FROM PETER!
I could hardly believe it when I saw his handwriting on the envelope. Lucky for me, the mail came while they were out. I thought I’d never hear from him again. But I should have known he wouldn’t run out on me that way.
He wrote:
My blue-eyed love,
I haven’t written to you or called all this time because I’m a coward, and I couldn’t stand to tell you the bad news. By now you probably know that I’m not going to be back at Irvine this semester. They have me trapped here at Westfield, a prep school for spoiled rich kids whose parents want to get rid of them. I thought I was being so cool going along with my father. I didn’t think I had to fight with him because I was sure I would never get into this place. But it didn’t work out that way. Someone canceled, and they were oh-so-glad to have me—especially since my father was more than willing to pay full tuition and make a donation to their building fund.
I’m miserable, Val. I think about you all the time. I’m trying to find a way to get back for Christmas break so that I can be with you when the baby’s born. I don’t know how I’ll do it yet because that s.o.b. took my car away, and I can’t get my hands on any money. But I’ll find a way, I promise. Until then, think of me: a prisoner here in this ivy-covered dungeon three thousand miles away, guilty of the crime of loving you.
I love you,
Peter
I love you, too, my dear, dear Peter with the crooked smile and the laughing eyes. How could I have ever thought you didn’t care?
Dear Peter,
I was so happy to get your letter, I danced around the house all day. I never knew a piece of paper could fill me with such joy.
I miss you. I think about you all the time. Every time I pass someplace we used to go together, I get a lump in my throat. I love you. I’m so relieved that you will be with me when the baby is born. I’ve been so scared, Peter. It’s like I was walking around under this black cloud. Knowing that you’ll be home Christmas has made the sun come out for me today and tomorrow and the day after.
I’m okay. Our baby is okay, too. It is kicking me right now. It kicks all the time—an overactive kid, just like you. I wish you were here to feel it kick. But you’ll be back soon and then we’ll be a family—all three of us! It’ll be hard. We’ll be together, though, and that’s what matters. I don’t ever want to be separated from you again.
Please write. I want to hear everything about where you are and what you are doing. If I can picture it, you won’t seem quite so far away. Call me so I can hear your voice again and you can hear me say I love you.
Val
Sunday, September 8
Carrie finally decided to break up with Tom. She told Tom their relationship wasn’t going anywhere and she didn’t want to go out with him anymore. The way she said it made me want to ask her where it was supposed to go. She didn’t sound too broken up about it, but I am, even though I’ve known it was coming. The four of us had such fun together: like that time we drove to Rosarita Beach for breakfast,—and the time we all were skinny-dipping at Peter’s and Mrs. Winder surprised us and we ran and hid in the bushes around the side of the house and had to stay there naked and shivering until she went upstairs to the bathroom, only then we almost got caught because Tom burst out laughing—and the time we went to that reggae concert and Carrie and Tom started the whole audience dancing in the aisles.
We were so happy. We thought nothing would ever change. Now look at us. It’s not just my having a baby—it’s everything.
Monday, September 9
I finally worked up the nerve to talk to Mrs. Rykoff about giving violin lessons to little kids. I was afraid of what she’d say. She was really nice about it, but she said I was a little young to give lessons and she was afraid most people wouldn’t want to start with someone who was expecting a baby in a few months. She said if I was serious about it, though, I should put notices in places like the supermarket and the dry cleaners and see what happens.
Then she asked me how I was doing, and I told her what a hard time I’ve had with The Lark Ascending. She said that if I came over, she’d work through it with me. I told her I couldn’t pay, but she said I should come anyway. I couldn’t stop thanking her.
Somehow, just knowing I’d be working on the piece with Mrs. Rykoff made me play better this afternoon. Even Mom said so.
Nick and I put up three-by-five cards in all the stores near the supermarket after dinner. I should put one up in the music store.
Tuesday, September 10
Today at school I met this girl named Stacy Mahoney. She’s seventeen. A blond, big, sort of blubbery girl, but I think I’m going to like her. I was complaining about how hard it is to catch the bus at six-thirty in the morning, and she laughed. She said if I thought it
was hard now, wait until my baby was born. Her Tyler is seven months old, and she has to change him, get him dressed and fed and then get herself ready to catch the bus. She has to get out of the house by six every morning because her stepfather yells at her if the baby wakes him up. She’s afraid he’ll throw them out.
When I asked why she didn’t get her own place, she looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t know anything, do you?” she said.
That kind of ticked me off, but as we kept talking about what it’s like for her, I could see she didn’t mean to put me down. I really don’t know anything.
Wednesday, September 11
I have to get a job. I hate having to ask Mom and Daddy for every little thing. It’s so demeaning. I can tell how they feel about me and the baby—like I don’t deserve to live anymore because of what I’ve done. I asked at the dry cleaners, the stationery store, the bakery, and the deli. No one was hiring part-time except at the deli, and they needed someone to cover the lunch shift, not after school. It was so discouraging.
I mentioned it at dinner. Daddy said I was nuts to even try. “You can forget about getting a job with that load you’re carrying. No one’s going to want you.”
Maybe he’s right and I am crazy to think anyone would hire me. But why does he have to be so mean about it?
Thursday, September 12
I made real progress on The Lark with Mrs. Rykoff. I was counting wrong. Now that I’m doing it right, it sounds a lot better. Mrs. Rykoff asked me to come and work with her on dynamics next week, which is really nice.
It turns out that Mrs. Rykoff had a baby when she was young, too—though not as young as me. She was in college and didn’t drop out. She gave lessons, went to school, and took care of the baby, all at the same time! She thought I could do the same. Listening to her, I began to think, why not? If she did it, why can’t I? It made me feel that it might be possible. I can’t let getting pregnant stop me. I’d like to major in music the way she did. I’d have to work, but lots of kids work while they’re in college—Sandy does and so does Heather. And Peter and I could take turns watching the baby, like Mr. and Mrs. Rykoff did.
Friday, September 13
Today we ignorant sinners in the school-age mothers’ program were treated to the good advice of the county mental health worker. Her name is Mrs. Rosenshine, but everyone calls her Mrs. Rise’n’shine because she’s one of those people who smile all the time and say things like “Now let’s talk about it.” She reminds me of my kindergarten teacher. Come to think of it, she had us all sit in a circle just like in kindergarten.
“I was in the nursery before coming here, and I noticed that Tyler was starting to crawl,” she said.
“Yeh,” said Stacy, “he’s trying hard, but he keeps falling over.”
“Keep your eyes on him—at this stage, they get into everything.”
“Yeh, he’s getting into stuff already,” Stacy admitted.
“And how do you handle that?” Mrs. Rise’n’shine asked.
“Take it away from him. Tell him no.”
“Slap his hand if he don’t let go!” chanted Tiffany.
This led into an utterly fascinating discussion about putting things away so the baby can’t reach them—a point that could be made in one sentence by most people, but not by Mrs. Rise’n’shine. She went on and on, during which time I wrote Peter’s name over and over with my left hand to see how it looked, Debbie Johnston got up and walked out of the room, and another girl didn’t even bother to whisper that she admired the outfit of the girl sitting next to her.
How these discussions are supposed to teach us anything is beyond me.
Sunday, September 15
I went to the movies in Newport Beach with Carrie, Dianne, Lily, and Arianna last night. Some guy was trying to hit on Dianne, and Lily was egging him on, even offering him popcorn. What a jerk! Everyone thought Lily was making an ass of herself.
It wasn’t until I came home that I had a chance to think about how weird it was. I kept waiting all evening for someone to say something about Peter, but no one did. They didn’t even ask about him. They didn’t say anything about my not being in school, either. They were all s-o-o-o-o nice, s-o-o-o friendly and careful. It was like they were all pretending nothing’s changed.
I wish they were right. But everything’s changed and I can’t ignore it. You won’t let me, will you? You in there with the elbows and knees.
Monday, September 16
I got a long letter from Peter today. It was really bizarre. He wrote all about his school and his roommates and his classes. But he didn’t say anything about the baby or ask how we were doing. It was like with the girls Saturday night—as if I weren’t pregnant. He didn’t say anything about coming home at Christmas, either. What if he’s changed his mind about me and the baby? He’s been gone so long.
What is the matter with me? He says he loves me. He wrote Peter Winder loves Valerie Larch—I love you—Be mine—Peter and Valerie all around the edges of the paper. He wrote that next to his bed he has a picture of me that he kisses every night. Does that sound like he doesn’t love me anymore? But, if he loves me, why didn’t he say anything about coming home or getting married or the baby? We have to start thinking about the future, to make plans.
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want him to feel like I’m forcing him into anything, but I’ve got to know when he’s coming home and what we’re going to do. The baby’s due in three months.
Dear Peter,
What a relief to get your letter. I was really worried about you all alone in that horrible place. But now I know you’re okay. I can picture your school and the dorm, the other kids—and everything.
After I read about all the new things you are doing, my life seems really boring. School is a drag. I don’t remember if I wrote to you about it, but I didn’t go back to Irvine, either. I couldn’t stand people staring at me and talking behind my back. You should see how big I’m getting. Everyone can tell now, even Mrs. Ikura at the nursery. She fired me because she said she couldn’t ask me to lift things in “my condition.” Anyway, I got into this program for pregnant girls. Academically it’s a joke, but at least nobody stares at me.
Your classes sound hard, especially trig. Mr. Hammond sounds like a Gestapo sergeant stalking up and down the aisles, but I can’t believe he’s even worse than Mr. Getsey was last year. Remember what he did to Tom? I always thought teachers at private schools were better than the ones we have in public school, but I guess not.
Your roommates sound like fun, except for the smelly one. That’s obnoxious. Is he really that dirty? Has he broken down and taken a shower yet? Pew! Glad he’s not my roommate. But I wish you were. It sort of sounds like you are settling in, which scares me a little, especially since you didn’t say anything about coming home. I know you promised you would, but I’m a little paranoid right now. I wish we could talk. I need to hear your voice. Can’t you call?
I love you, Peter. I carry your image with me everywhere. At night I am with you in my dreams. During the day I can hardly think of anything else except you and what we did when we were together and what we’ll do after you come home.
Remember when you gave me that poem and we talked about how everything seems more real when you’re in love? I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately because I miss you and because nothing seems real to me anymore.
Please come home, Peter. I love you. I need you. Your baby needs you.
Val
Tuesday, September 17
I fainted today in school. I was concentrating on my English workbook, and I must have stood up too fast to go sharpen my pencil, because I blanked out and fell. I was so embarrassed. While I was in the back of the room lying down, Mrs. Zakos came to sit with me. She wanted me to see the nurse, but I didn’t want to. Then she asked if I was getting prenatal care, and she made me promise I’ll tell Dr. Price what happened. She really got me scared that I might be anemic or sick.
Oh, pl
ease, God, let my baby be healthy. I really don’t want anything bad to happen to it. Listen, you little astronaut floating inside me, are you okay? Please be okay. I love you.
Wednesday, September 18
Mom took me to see Dr. Price this morning. I’m anemic and I need to take iron pills and eat more, but, thank God, the baby is okay. It’s just a little small.
Afterward we went for a sandwich, and we had this talk. It was the nicest conversation we’ve had since she found out I was pregnant. She didn’t lecture me or tell me I had to give the baby up for adoption.
“You’re lucky you’re having such an easy time of it,” she said. “I was sick the whole time I was pregnant with each of you kids. Not just the first three months, but the entire time. My back hurt, my feet swelled up so I couldn’t get into my shoes, and I had cramps in my legs that kept waking me up at night.”
“If it was that bad when you were pregnant with Sandy,” I asked, “why did you ever get pregnant again?”
She laughed. “I suppose you forget when it’s all over. And besides, we wanted to have a bigger family.”
I’m glad that she went ahead and got pregnant again or I wouldn’t be here. But I can’t believe you forget. I know I won’t.
Thursday, September 19
Went over to Mrs. Rykoff’s this afternoon to work on dynamics. I think I made a lot of progress, which made me feel happy. At the same time, it made me sad that I’m not taking regular lessons. Sometimes, like today, when I’m playing well, I think I could actually become a professional. Mrs. Rykoff says she thinks I could.
On the way back, I stopped at a little sandwich place near College. They had a Help Wanted sign in the window, and I asked the lady behind the counter about working there. She said she thought her husband might have already hired someone, but she wasn’t sure. It sounded like she might be trying to give me the brush-off. Still, I should check back just in case.